Happily Ever After
by Potter47
Summary: When Ron feels that Hermione is unhappy, he turns to the most unlikely person for help. Well, maybe not the MOST unlikely...I reckon that Voldemort would be more so, and Malfoy, and a few others...but it is rather uncommon...oh, well. [One-Shot, R&R]


Happily Ever After  


_Potter47 _

"How much longer will it take to cure this

Just to cure it cause I can't ignore it if it's love

Makes me wanna turn around and face me

but I don't know nothing 'bout love."

Counting Crows 

Ron Weasley was not happy. He was, in fact, _dreadfully _unhappy. Why? Because Hermione Granger was not happy.

He could tell; she seemed to do nothing but pour over books, all day long. Sure, he reasoned, she had always done that. But this was different. It was...well, Ron couldn't seem to think of a different word for "different." Distinct?

Something was wrong. Hermione normally looked...content, when she read. It was what she liked best, of course. Ron had known her for eight years, and that was one thing about her that had _never_ changed. That he never _thought_ would change. But, it seemed, it had.

Ron needed help. There must be something that would make Hermione happy. Flowers? _No, Hermione never did seem to be a flower person._ A card? _Yes, how practical. A little piece of paper has _so_ many uses..._ Ron swore that the Hermione-voice within his head was sneering at him. Perfume? _Yes, that worked out _delightfully _last time..._

Ron shivered, recalling the last time he had tried to give Hermione perfume. He had thought she liked it: she had thanked him for it and all that. But then when he found out that she... He didn't want to think of that.

But what _was_ practical? What would Hermione find useful? _A book? _Probably. But he had no idea what to get her. He'd never been good with books.

It was then that he realised the futility of his mental conversation. He had no money to buy Hermione a present. His job didn't exactly pay _top dollar._

You see, Ron worked for the _Quibbler. _Sadly. But he hadn't scored very well on his O.W.L.s, let alone the N.E.W.T.s, and no one else would take him. Well, that wasn't exactly true; Percy had actually offered him a starting position in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. But (among other disqualifying factors), Ron was never the type to work at a desk. He promptly turned his brother's offer down, and hunted other possibilities.

It was then that Luna had offered him the position at the _Quibbler._ He had actually meant to turn her down, but he realised that he needed someplace to work, and at least Percy wouldn't be breathing down his neck all the time.

Unfortunately, as it turned out, the _Quibbler _doesn't actually _pay_ its writers. Apparently, they work only for the "honour" of writing for such a "prestigious publication." Luckily, Luna managed to get her father to give him a bit of a salary, but it wasn't much. _Honestly_, thought Ron_, you'd think it was written in the stars that Weasleys have to be poor..._

It was then that it hit him. _That's why she isn't happy. Because I'm _me. _She wishes that I was different._ And as soon as he thought it, he knew it had to be true. _Why would she love _me,_ anyway?_ _We always argue and stuff..._

"Something wrong, Ronald?"

Ron's head snapped up. He was sitting at his desk, in the _Quibbler's _office. He had been lost in thought (perhaps for the first time in his life) and hadn't noticed Luna coming up behind him. But did he _ever _notice her coming up behind him...?

"What?" he asked, looking around at her.

"I said, is there something wrong Ronald?" she said. "You don't look too happy."

Very perceptive... Ron reckoned he probably looked downright dreadful.

"No, I'm fine--" Ron paused, considering. What harm would it do? He could ask Luna. She was female. She'd know better than him.

He started again. "Actually, I'm not too great," he said.

"What's wrong?" she asked, sitting down in a conjured chair and looking at him curiously. For a second, Ron thought she was going to pull out a notepad and start asking him questions like a Muggle psychiatrist. Thankfully, she just looked at him, awaiting a response.

"Erm, well, Hermione doesn't seem to be...happy." He couldn't think of another word for it. "She hasn't been herself lately. I think... I think--"

"You think what?" asked Luna. "Maybe she's just sick, or--"

"No, it's more than that. I think it's because of this job. It doesn't--"

He stopped once again, seeing the look on Luna's face. She had straightened in her chair as well. "Well, if Hermione doesn't like you working here, why don't you just leave?" she asked, a bit of something different in her voice. "If it's keeping her from being happy, there's no reason to--"

"No, that's not what I meant," said Ron hurriedly. Luna looked quite relieved. "I don't mean this job in particular. I actually kind of like working here." _Which,_ he realised,_ is true._ "It's more the fact that this is the only job I could get. I'm not smart, and I'm not good enough at Quidditch, and there's nothing I'm really any good at anyway. I just wish I was...different, I guess. And Hermione does too."

Luna looked confuzzled. "Why would you want to change yourself? I mean, I've never particularly liked my hair -- I'd like it to be a bit lighter, like my mother's was -- but I wouldn't want to change _myself._" She shook her head. "I guess that's just me."

"Well, say I did want to change myself," said Ron, thinking Luna looked just fine with dirty-blond hair. _Whatever flies your broom..._ "Do you know if there's anyway to do it?"

"'Course there is," she said. "Do you not _read_ these little magazines we spend all our days on here?"

"What d'you mean?"

She pulled an issue of the _Quibbler_ out of her robe's inside pocket, and handed it to him.

"What...?"

She pointed to the top of it. Above the title, in small, bold black writing, were the words, "HOGWARTS PROFESSOR BREWING PERFECTION?" and "_SEE PAGE 12._"

"Professor?" said Ron, opening to page twelve. "Not Snape..." But, alas, it was.

_

> Perfection; it has always seemed just beyond our reach. But recently, Professor Severus Snape P.M., has created a new and revolutionary potion. Dubbed the "Happily Ever After" Potion, it will enable the drinker to transform into their ideal self; the way their "true love" wishes them to be. One may wonder exactly how Professor Snape tested the potion, and what he looked like--

_

But Ron had stopped reading. "Snape?" he said again. It didn't seem the kind of thing Snape would come up with. "But that can't be real--"

"Of course it is," said Luna. "I checked the facts myself." For that was what Luna liked to do; check facts. She didn't reckon herself a good writer, so she critiqued other's writing. Her motto: whoever would write and can't write, can surely review. "It's odd, though, as only a few people have reacted to it. We'd thought everyone would be rushing to Professor Snape, asking for some, but--"

"But Professor _Snape!_ A...what was it...? 'Happily Ever After' Potion?"

"Yes, Ronald. Professor Snape _really _created the potion." She looked about at the near-empty office. "Tell you what, Ronald. Seeing as today seems to be a slow day for news, how about you take the rest of the day off? Go see Professor Snape, and ask about the potion. It can't hurt, right?"

Wanna bet? Ron thought, but didn't say it aloud. Odd as it was to think, Luna was his boss and if she told him to take the rest of the day off, he wasn't going to protest.

"Fine," he said. "It'll be great for the Quib, I bet. First hand results."

"That's one way to look at it, I suppose." With that, Luna left, her chair disappearing with a soft _pop!_ as she left.

"Might as well," mumbled Ron to the empty cubicle. With _Quibbler _in hand, he left the office and Apparated straight to Hogsmeade.

Ron entered the potions dungeon for the first time in a year. Not something he'd anticipated, and not something he wanted to do. But, alas, he had no choice.

"Anyone here?" he called out to the empty dungeon. Hoping for an instant that there wouldn't be an answer, he added, "No? Then I guess I'll just..."

"Is that what you call _bravery_ Weasley?" drawled the _ever_-pleasant voice of Professor Snape. He emerged from his office door, smirking. "Honestly, I wasn't even in the _room_ yet, and you were afraid. You're worse than Longbottom."

Yes, he is as pleasant as ever...

"I, er, came to ask a question..."

"_Really?_" Snape said. "Oh, I am so _honoured_. Imagine, coming to a _teacher _for an answer..." His brows furrowed. "Weasley, do you mean you've actually come up with a question to which Miss Granger has no answer? I do not know if I should be elated or scared."

"No, I couldn't ask Hermione about this," Ron said, gathering his nerve, and having no clue at all how he was to ask _Snape_ a question like _this_. He'd never asked Snape for anything before.

Snape glanced down at the magazine in Ron's hand. He obviously recognised it. "Ah," he said, sneering. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Sort of," said Ron grudgingly. "I wouldn't have come here if it weren't for--"

"Yes? I would like to know why you'd come to _me_ of all people, for help in your love life. I suppose you are looking for the so-called 'Happily Ever After' potion?" Ron nodded. "Please give a very warm 'thank you' to your boss for besmirching my potion with such a name." He shivered. "Honestly, do I look like the type of man to care about 'happily ever afters'?"

"No, sir."

"Follow me," said Snape, turning on his heel and re-entering his office. Ron did as he was told. "So why do _you_ need it? I can't imagine Miss Granger having an affair, unless of course there was a house elf involved--"

"Hey!" shouted Ron, leaving his lack-of-bravery behind for a moment in anger. "Don't talk about Hermione like that!"

"Oh, you misunderstand me, Weasley," said Snape, shaking his head slightly, smirking slightly, and opening a store cupboard slightly. "There was an incident in Bulgaria last week. I suppose you've heard that Longbottom has a cousin there?" He closed the cupboard and opened the one next to it. "Somehow or another, Victor Krum -- yes, the very same -- crossed paths with a cauldron on a rampage. It attacked and he was turned into the surliest looking house elf I've ever seen. I was just thinking that if Miss Granger was to find out about such a thing, she might do something unexpected. If she fancied Krum before, now he's part-house elf, and must be twelve-times as attractive to her."

"She would _never_!"

Snape turned around from the cupboard, potion bottle in hand. Seeing the look of sheer indignation on Ron's face, he snorted so loudly that Trelawney was sure to hear it from her tower. "Honestly, Weasley, you Gryffindors have no sense of humour at all. It was a _joke._ Do you honestly think Victor Krum was attacked by a _cauldron?_ Have you ever seen a cauldron _attack?_ They are notoriously slow-moving instruments."

Ron just looked at him, open-mouthed.

"Here's your potion Weasley," said Snape, sober once again, shoving the bottle into Ron's chest. "Do try not to bungle it up too badly. I don't think the _Quibbler _would appreciate it if _you_ were turned into a house elf." He smirked. "On second thought..."

"How much?" said Ron, ignoring him.

"Twenty."

Ron took twenty pieces of silver, and put them on the desk as he fled the dungeon. He never liked being in there a second longer than necessary, and he was glad to leave.

"_Galleons, _Weasley! Twenty _Galleons!_" called Snape behind him. "Last time you get anything from me!"

Ron still could not believe he had turned to Snape. He was half-tempted to pour the potion down the toilet; forget about the whole thing. After all, there was no reason to believe the Potions Master hadn't handed him poison. It was, needless to say, what the man did for fun. Poisoning Gryffindors.

But, against all better judgement, Ron did not throw the potion down the drain. He didn't like the look of it -- thick bluish liquid in a small sphere-shaped bottle -- but something told him it was alright. He didn't know what; just something.

Uncorking the bottle, he raised it to his lips. He smelt something nasty; like over-cooked broccoli. Just as he was about to swish it into his mouth, however, he heard the door to his flat swing open and hit the wall behind. He hastily re-corked the bottle and put it in his medicine cabinet.

"Who is it?" he called, checking himself in the mirror before emerging from his bathroom.

"It's us," said a familiar voice. Ron entered his front room, to see the accompaniment of the familiar voice; a familiar sight.

"There's my favourite brother," said Ginny with a grin.

"Hope we're not interrupting anything," said Harry awkwardly.

"No, no, I wasn't doing anything," said Ron. "Why exactly--"

"Do you have ice cream?" asked Ginny quickly. "Please, oh _please_ say you do...?"

"Erm. I _think_ I might...," said Ron confusedly. "You came here for--"

But Ginny had already flown past him, to the kitchen (Not _actually_ flown, of course; it was a very small flat).

"You came here for _ice cream_?" Ron asked Harry instead. "Why?"

"Ginny wanted ice cream," said Harry simply.

Ron shook his head. "If Ginny had gotten everything she wanted at home, we'd have been far poorer than we were. You've got to stop giving in."

"I'd like to see you try it," he mumbled. "You didn't spend your honeymoon with great flapping bogeys on your face," Harry reminded him, cringing.

Which, of course, was true.

"I haven't _had_ a honeymoon," said Ron. "And I'm not planning one anytime soon, either."

"AHA!" Ron and Harry both turned their heads to the kitchen door.

"She must have found it," said Harry, shaking his head. "Honestly, you'd think she was starving. We just ate before coming here."

Ginny emerged from the kitchen, victorious, with a large spoon raised and attacking the strawberry desert. "See, Harry," she said. "Coming here was a great idea." She put a large spoonful in her mouth.

"So, what have you been doing, Ron?" asked Harry. "Hermione hasn't really said anything much the last few days. Is she sick or something?"

Which, of course, reminded Ron of the problem at hand. _Hermione. The potion. Urgh._

"No, I don't think she's sick," said Ron.

"An ats ong?" said Ginny, spoon in mouth. She swallowed. "Than what's wrong?"

"I don't--" Ron stopped, realising once again that there was no point avoiding the truth.

"What?" asked Harry, taking a seat on the sofa.

Ron released a breath. "Ginny, you're a girl, maybe you could answer this for me..."

"Mm ll ers," she said. Swallow. "I'm all ears."

"You see, Hermione hasn't been acting...herself. Lately."

"That's what I said," said Harry.

"Shh, Harry," said Ginny. "Go in the kitchen or something."

"What? Why?"

"Because I said so."

"Fine."

Harry left, leaving Ginny and Ron. Ginny was sitting on the sofa, and Ron was standing. Pacing, more like.

"What is it?" said Ginny, for a moment letting the spoon lay still.

"Well, let me put it this way: if you were Hermione, what would you want to change, about me?" He had wondered this. Was he going to wake up after taking the potion and look like Victor Krum? What exactly would happen?

"Change?" said Ginny, taken aback. "Why would she want to change something about you?"

"Just answer. Really, has she ever said there was something she'd rather be different? My hair? My freckles? My...feet?"

"Well, definitely your feet, for one thing," said Ginny, grinning. "Where did you get those things, anyway? Mum and Dad have normal sized like the rest of us..."

"Anything _else?_"

"Well...," Ginny stopped, looking to be in thought. "She said once that she wished you were a bit shorter, I think. You are, like, a foot-and-a-half taller than her, after all."

Right; expect to be shorter.

"She's always wished you were a bit less daft..." she said, chuckling. "But that's something we've all wanted, so it probably doesn't count."

"Yeah, yeah," said Ron. "And?"

"And once she said...," Ginny stopped again. "I probably shouldn't tell you that--"

"No, please," said Ron. "Tell me everything she's said."

"Wait a minute Ron," she said. "Why do you want to know all of a sudden, anyway? You're not going to try to change yourself, are you?" she asked worriedly. "Come _on_, Ron, you know you're no good at transfiguration--"

"No, no, nothing like that," said Ron hurriedly. "What did she say?"

Ginny took a deep breath and began. "Well, it was last summer. When you had that picnic thing at the _Quibbler._ You and Luna started talking as soon as we all got there, and you kept going for just about the whole afternoon. Hermione just sat with me and Harry the whole time, bored out of her skin. She told me that..."

"What?"

"I shouldn't tell you this. It's betraying a confidence--"

"_Please_ Ginny," Ron pleaded. At the look of desperation in her brother's eyes, Ginny conceded.

"Fine. She said she would have preferred you not finding any job at all, than working for the _Quibbler._ She said that she...she wished you and Luna didn't get on so well."

"Me and Luna?" said Ron confusedly. "But we've known each other since--"

"I know, Ron," said Ginny. "When she said it, I thought it sounded a bit selfish. But when she looked at Luna, Hermione looked so... decidedly _Slytherin,_ I didn't want to say anything. It was probably nothing."

Luna? thought Ron. _Am I going to wake up and not like talking to Luna anymore? No, Hermione would never want that. Not in a thousand years. Ginny must have heard wrong..._

"I'm coming out of here!" called Harry from the kitchen. "I have to use the loo and I don't care _what_ you say Ginny!" He opened the door, and saw the vacant expression that was Ron's face.

"What's wrong, Ron?"

"Nothing," Ron said. "Ginny, you can keep the ice cream. I think...I think I need a nice nap..." For some reason, however, he departed in the direction of the loo, instead of the bedroom.

"We're leaving," said Ginny, before walking to the door.

Harry was left standing in the kitchen doorway. He darted after Ginny, who was walking down the hall outside the flat. "But I said I need to use the loo!"

Ron didn't know what he was doing. His mind wasn't clear in the least. Thoughts crashed from side to side, as if they were bludgers in a particularly rough game of Quidditch. He could not walk steadily. Rocking left and right, he slammed against the bathroom sink.

"I think I'm gonna be sick--"

Without thinking, his hands reached up to the medicine cabinet above the sink. Grabbing the blue potion, he pulled the cork off and chugged it down.

He didn't care what would happen. Something inside of him told him that he was doing the right thing, and he listened.

The potion tasted even worse than it smelled. Of course, this was the way with potions, so it wasn't exactly unexpected. The small bit seemed to take forever to pass through Ron's lips. When he finally swallowed the last bit, he instantly felt even more light-headed than he had. With a loud _thump!_, he fell to the loo floor.

"RONALD!" called Luna up the stairs. "What's taking so long! I want to _play!_"

"I'll be down in a minute!" Ron yelled back down. He straightened the plaque, proud of his plaque-straightening skill. He admired it, hanging on his door: RONALD'S ROOM. It really looked quite good.

He made his way down the many stairway's of the Burrow. He passed Ginny on the way down, holding her new Boy-Who-Lived picture book. _Honestly_, he thought to himself,_ the way she's looking at that you'd think she was going to MARRY Harry Potter..._

"About _time_, Ronald," said Luna, when he reached the bottom of the stairs.

"I wanted to get it straight," he said defensively. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "Thank you," he said sincerely.

"For what?" she said, as if she hadn't a clue. Or maybe she really didn't. Luna was like that sometimes; losing the track of conversation. Ron thinks she does it on purpose.

"For the sign. I didn't get you anything good. Just a stupid little--"

"It wasn't _stupid_, Ronald," she said. "And the sign wasn't anything special, either. After all, what are friends for?"

What are friends for?

Friends for?

Friends...

"Smile! And say 'Snorkack!'" Mr Lovegood cried from behind the Muggle camera.

"Snorkack!" called out Luna, while Ron simply looked confused. As would he always be preserved, as Muggle pictures tend to refrain from changing expressions.

"What's a snorecat?" asked Ron. "Do cats snore? I've never had a cat."

"No, _Snorkack_, silly," corrected the four-year-old Luna. "But of _course _cats snore--what else would they do to pass the time between dreams?" she asked, as though it were a perfectly obvious conclusion to come to.

"But what's a snorkack?" asked Ron.

"NO," said Luna once again, becoming a bit frustrated. "_S_norkack. With a big 'S'. A Snorkack is a type of _animal_ of _course_. There are lots of them: Crumple-Horned, Swirly-Tailed, Three-Legged, Feather-Whiskered, and lots more. But Crumple-Horneds are most common round here. The Humdingers gobbled all the rest up--"

"_Right...._" said Ron, not the least bit enlightened. "Er, are you hungry? I'm starved. Has your Dad got any food?"

"'Course he does, but you'd be better off with Mum. Dad's busy with pictures," she said, jumping up the little stone steps the led in from the back garden.

"Right."

"Mum, Ronald's hungry!" called the little girl. A tall blond witch (with much lighter hair than little Luna's), emerged from the kitchen, apron in place.

"Well he's come to the right place," she said. "You like cookies, I assume...?"

"Yes, cookies are good," said Ron happily. "What kind--"

"YOU WHAT!" came the cry from the back garden. All three heads -- two blond, one red -- swung around to the back door. A tall dark haired man -- Mr London Lovegood -- emerged with a black camera swinging wildly round his neck.

"What, London?" asked Mrs Lovegood.

"What have I told you _never_ to do?"

Realisation dawned on Cynthia Lovegood's face. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, London--"

"NEVER ASSUME!" the man shouted. He then moved very close to Ron's face. "_Never_," he said once again, "assume."

Never assume.

Never...

...assume.

Assume nothing.

Ever.

His eyes snapped open.

12 down...six letter word for savior...gah!

Potter again. Might as well call it the "Potterwords."

Why don't they say, I don't know, eight-letter word for cold-curing potion? At least that would require knowledge!

Or how about: seven letter word for know-it-all? At least that would be something different_._

Professor Severus Snape threw down the wizarding crossword puzzle onto his desk. Again. It seemed he did it every day. For a year, there hadn't been a single puzzle that didn't mention Potter. Or, as was the case more recently, _the _Potters.

What's a six letter word for 'overexposed?' Right again! Potter!

Too bad that wasn't a real one. Maybe he should try his hand at creating them himself. That couldn't be too hard to do. Nothing a certified Potions Master couldn't handle, anyway.

Bang!

Snape's head snapped up. _Not again._

"Weasley, never come near my office again. I'm not kidding. You do not enter this room without my foreknowledge--what the hell are you doing?"

Weasley had his wand out, aimed at Snape's heart. _His posture is terrible. I could take it right out of his hand._

"_What did you give me?_" the redhead demanded. "I paid you twenty Sickles for that thing, and--"

"And it cost twenty Galleons!" sneered Snape. "You're lucky I didn't report the theft. I figured it charity; after all, how often do you get to help out a weasel in need?"

"_What did you give me?_" Ron hissed again. "Nothing happened, Snape! Am I going to wake up dead tomorrow or something? Was it poison?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "No, you're not going to _wake up dead._ It is quite impossible to do so, actually."

"Want to try?" snapped Ron.

"Put the wand away, Weasley," drawled Snape. "You know you're not about to hurt me. You'd never have the nerve." He furrowed his brow, now. "Or the _cause _-- what exactly is this _about_, Weasley?"

"I'll put it away when I want to--"

"You'll put it away _now._"

Something in his former teacher's eyes made the wand lower. Weasley stashed it in his robe, glaring. Snape smirked. The boy was terrified.

"Explain to me exactly what you are here for," said Snape, sitting back down in his chair. Weasley did not sit in the chair opposite. He remained standing.

"Your bloody potion didn't work. I woke up exactly how I was."

Snape blinked, confused. _How could that..._ "You did _drink_ the potion, Weasley?" he asked, not entirely sure the answer was obvious. It was Weasley after all.

"Of course I _drank_ the potion. What did you expect?"

"And you're _exactly_ how you were before? No lightened hair, no loss of freckles, no shrinking of feet?"

"No, no, no."

The Potions Master was genuinely confused. "I can't imagine why it wouldn't work. I perfected it. I'm sure I did--"

"I still want my money back. I say you gave me some bad smelling water or something. Your shampoo?"

He actually had the nerve to insult_ me. Not common._

"It _was_ the potion, Weasley. If you don't believe me, ask the Headmaster. Though you probably wouldn't recognise him. He's been looking much younger lately."

No, he didn't make the connection. What a surprise...

"Don't change the subject. I want to know why I don't look different. And I still like--"

Weasley stopped, clearly not intending to share that bit of information with Snape. Too bad.

"Yes? You still like what?"

"Nobody."

"Ah so it's a _who_, is it?" said Snape. "You still like who? Not _me _surely?"

"No, not _you_," snapped Ron snappishly. At Snape.

"Well who? Malfoy? I'd of thought you didn't like him already. Who would Miss Granger want you to dislike?"

Snape's mind ran through his memory. It was quite a trek, as the man was blessed with recollection beyond that of even the late Dark Lord. He didn't have as long to go back, of course, but he recalled with much more clarity than Voldemort had.

He looked through his memories of Weasley and Granger. They never had seemed the type to be romantically involved, despite the seemingly obviousness of it. He hadn't seen it coming, in other words.

Weasley was not being much help in the great process of elimination, as he seemed to be scolding himself for saying 'nobody.'

Fight, fight, fight. It seemed all the two had ever done was fight. Had they ever _not_ been fighting? Yes, it seemed: in first year, for three minutes after the troll encounter. It went downhill from there.

Who doesn't Granger like? That Weasley does? Faces flashed before his mind of all his students. _Brown, Patil, Patil, Thomas, Finnigan, Bones, Abbot, Nott, Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Potter, Spinnet, Bell, Johnson, Weasley, Weasley, Weasley, Weasley, _Miss_ Weasley, Lovegood, Creevey--_

Lovegood? She's Weasley's boss, isn't she? They get on, right?

"Not _Lovegood, _surely?"

Ron's head snapped up at the sound of the name. "How in the bloody hell did you guess that?"

So it is. "Years of practice." He narrowed his eyes at the redhead. "Miss Granger doesn't want you to get along with Miss Lovegood? Why?"

Weasley shrugged. "How should I know? I just know that she doesn't. And I still--"

"You still like her," finished Snape, recalling his words from earlier. "When did you take the potion? Did you just awaken?"

"Yes," said Weasley. "I came straight here." He had sat down by now, and had his head in his hands, thinking. "Why did I do this in the first place?" he asked no one in particular.

"Then how do you know about Lovegood? Rather, if you haven't spoken to her since you took the potion, how do you know the potion did not work?"

"Because of the dr--"

"Dreams?" finished Snape, perceptively. "What dreams? If possible, please spare me of the details--"

"No, nothing like _that_," said Ron hurriedly. "Just memories. From when we were little. Luna and me." He shook his head. "I haven't dreamt about that for years. I don't know why I would now."

He dreamt of Lovegood? Snape thought. _But that doesn't make sense. He should have dreamt of--_

Unless...

"Weasley, go to work," said Snape, realisation dawning.

"What? Work? Why?" Ron looked at his watch. "It's seven-- I get off at six. And I got the day off today anyway. I can't just walk in and--"

"Go to work," said Snape again. "Talk to her. I reckon you'll understand why."

Ron looked at Snape, open-mouthed. "You _know_, don't you? You already figured this all out. Just _tell me._ What does this all mean?"

Snape smirked. "How Gryffindor of you. Obviously, there isn't an ounce of Slytherin in your blood, nor Ravenclaw. Or you'd enjoy the mystery."

"I _hate_ mysteries--"

"Go to work."

"Ronald?" said Luna confusedly, as the redhead came in through the _Quibbler_ office door. "What are you doing here? I thought I gave you the day off."

"You did," said Ron. If the room was empty when he left, it was even more so now; not another soul was present, save Ron and Luna.

"Then why are you back? You've never been one to work when you didn't have to."

"I wanted to come back in," he said, which was not at all true. But, _Professor Snape told me to come, quite possibly to lead me on a wild hippogriff chase_, was too long to be bothered with. Ron just wanted to sit at his desk and, well, sit.

"Fix things with Hermione?" asked Luna, following him over to his cubicle.

"Not exactly," he said. _Too bad Snape had to be vague...what am I supposed to do now?_

"Ronald, you're not even looking up."

"No, I guess I'm not." He flipped open a _Quibbler._

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Ronald, are you feeling all right?" she asked worriedly, entering the small cubicle.

"No, I guess I'm not," he said, flipping a page.

"Ronald, look at me when you speak."

Grudgingly, he turned around in his chair. "Happy?" he said.

"Very much so. You know, you should probably go to bed or something. You look like you slept on a floor."

How accurate.

Then, as he made to turn around once again, something caught his eye. "Luna, your...your hair. It's different. Lighter."

"Yeah, I noticed," said Luna, brow furrowed, eyes raised to her hair. "It's odd, too. Because I was just saying earlier how I sometimes wish my hair was more like my mother's...That was the first time I ever said it out loud I think. Maybe it's fate; just waiting for me to admit it."

Ron recalled, _"Why would you want to change yourself? I mean, I've never particularly liked my hair -- I'd like it to be a bit lighter, like my mother's was -- but I wouldn't want to change myself." She shook her head. "I guess that's just me."_

Realisation hit him like a ton of, well, very large and pointy things:

...dubbed the "Happily Ever After" Potion, it will enable the drinker to transform into their ideal self; the way their "true love" wishes them to be....

Ron swallowed. "Yeah...fate. You believe in fate?"

"Of course. Fate, destiny. I've always thought that everything happens for a reason. That everything turned out the way it was supposed to, and it always will. I guess I was supposed to have lighter hair..."

"Right...hair..."

Luna? Could Luna be my "true love?" What about Hermione? Is that why this all happened? Does everything really happen for a reason? Is there any point to asking myself all these questions? Shouldn't I do something about it?

"Er, Luna...," he said, rising from the chair. "I need to tell you something..." She looked at him curiously, waiting for him to continue. "You see, I took that potion, and..." He stepped closer.

"Yes?" She was less than a dozen inches away. He could see the sun setting behind her light hair.

"...and I think it worked."

**_

The End 

_**


End file.
